


Trial and Error

by Muriel_Perun



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bondage, Branding, Consensual Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Kink and mush, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/pseuds/Muriel_Perun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cultural exchange trip to Cardassia, Julian Bashir is accused of a serious crime and arrested. Is his friendship with Garak the only thing that can save him, or will it hasten his execution?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comparative Dermatology

“I’m glad that we happened to run into each other, doctor,” Garak said formally, rising from the replimat table. “I assume I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow?”

Bashir stared hard into his teacup. “I think I have an appointment,” he murmured vaguely.

“Nonsense,” Garak scoffed, “your schedule is completely clear tomorrow afternoon. I happened to see it over your shoulder earlier when you were checking your padd.”

“Oh, yes, I must have been thinking of last week,” he answered, blushing to the roots of his hair. “All right, Garak. The usual time?”

Garak nodded silently and walked off down the Promenade towards his shop while Bashir turned his steps towards the infirmary. _Tomorrow,_ he thought. _Twenty-four hours._ He clenched his fists angrily and tried to drive the thought from his mind. When had he started craving Garak’s company?

He knew exactly when. A few weeks before, walking down the Promenade by Garak’s side, he hadn’t been watching where he was going. A couple of sprinting youngsters had run right into him, and when he lost his footing, he’d landed in Garak’s arms.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” Garak had asked in a voice deep with concern, while holding him close.

Looking straight into Garak’s eyes, feeling the alien’s hot breath against his face, Julian had suddenly had the strangest feeling. He’d had difficulty regaining his footing for a moment—his legs had turned to rubber, and still Garak held him, looking intently into his face. A current of heat ran through Julian’s body when he realized that he could feel Garak’s erection through his clothes, and that his own was pressed up tightly against it. That was when he finally scrambled to his feet.

What had really happened in that moment? Had Garak felt it, too? Was the Cardassian tailor really attracted to him? Somehow, Bashir was unable to believe it.

Garak was always so wary, so unwilling to reveal himself. Had the momentary pressure of Bashir’s body given Garak an erection, or had he never really had one at all? The Cardassian organ was, as Bashir knew from his studies of Cardassian physiology, quite large and stiff even when it wasn’t engorged, and, in any case, there were plenty of other ridges and bumps on Garak’s body that even a doctor could plausibly mistake for an erection. Garak probably hadn’t even noticed Bashir’s arousal, and that was just as well. Ever since then, Julian had felt uneasy around his friend, even as he’d also had trouble repressing his sexual thoughts.

He’d tried everything, from the distractions of work and racquetball to the therapeutic approach of letting his fantasies roam free in private. But that had only intensified his desires and made them more specific. When he saw Garak now, he thought of pressing up against the tailor’s hard body, of seeing desire awaken in his bright eyes. He thought of running his hands along the bony ridges, gradually removing the stylish clothing to reveal more smooth leathery skin and horny protrusions to fondle and gnaw. And, once the Cardassian was completely naked, Julian imagined taking the stiff organ into his hand, then his mouth, and pumping and teasing it until they were both ready to faint with lust before he allowed Garak to come.

But, in his more pragmatic moments, he realized that Garak was unlikely to lie still and let himself be stimulated to the point of inanition. At those times, Julian was more likely to imagine Garak grabbing him with a growl of lust, pushing him firmly onto his stomach, and entering him with a pair of slippery fingers and then with his hot erection. Julian imagined how it would feel to be stretched and filled by Garak’s swollen cock. He wanted to be impaled, moaning as he took Garak’s hard strokes and felt Garak’s warm mouth on his neck.

Those images, and the throb of pleasure they gave him, now imposed themselves upon Julian’s senses whenever he saw the tailor. He was gradually trying to see him less often, afraid of revealing his desire.

Bashir was not inexperienced with women, but he’d never been attracted to a male before. At the Academy he’d enjoyed his share of casual sex until he’d moved on to attend Star Fleet medical school in Paris, where he soon fell deeply in love with a woman.

Aside from an occasional discreet encounter with a visitor to the station, Bashir hadn’t had many other relationships. And he’d never been this obsessed with anyone. He was starting to worry himself. Should the station’s Chief Medical Officer consider removing him temporarily from duty? He smiled wryly to himself. He wasn’t that far gone yet. He hoped. But he really ought to break tomorrow’s luncheon date with Garak and play some racquetball instead.

“Sisko to Bashir,” said his comm badge. “Report to Ops.”

“On my way,” Julian replied, grateful for something to break the routine and get his mind off of Garak. Or rather, out from under him. Julian sighed inwardly at his own folly and started for the turbolift to Ops.

Kira and Dax turned to look at Bashir as he entered Sisko’s office. He wondered uneasily what the smirk on Kira’s face portended.

“Congratulations, doctor,” Sisko said with pleasure, “the Cardassian government has just issued you a special invitation.”

“To do what?” Julian asked warily.

“Why to visit Cardassia, of course,” Sisko said with a broadening smile. “We’ve been invited to take part in a scientific conference. It seems that Gul Dukat has been instructed to open a cultural and scientific exchange with the Federation, and the first area to be explored is medicine. Apparently you’ve impressed someone, doctor.”

“Who? Garak?” Julian asked incredulously, hoping no one could guess why he was suddenly blushing furiously.

“Who knows?” Sisko replied. “At any rate, you should be ready to leave tomorrow night at 1700 hours. And make sure that you bring something to keep the Cardassian medical people interested.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bashir replied, thinking of a comparative paper on Cardassian and Terran dermatology he had just published and was still excited about. “That shouldn’t be too hard. I’m looking forward to it.”

Kira shuddered. “Better you than me, doctor,” she said.

Dax laughed. “Don’t you want to go, Nerys? Are you sure you don’t want to visit your stepfather again?”

Kira’s brief reply was impolite, to say the least.

Since he was supposed to be gone for ten days, Bashir didn’t cancel his luncheon date with Garak after all. He still preserved the faint hope of getting some information about Cardassia from his friend, although Garak usually put him off, telling him that all he needed to know about Cardassian culture was contained in the novels he’d been reading. But maybe, now that Bashir was actually going to spend some time on Cardassia, Garak would let slip a few interesting bits of useful information.

No such luck. All Garak wanted to talk about was station gossip. Jake Sisko was going out with a Dabo girl named Marta—how long would it take Commander Sisko to find out? And how would he react to the news? Would he let the affair continue? For once, Bashir couldn’t have cared less. He sighed, waiting for an opportunity to jump in and tell Garak about his impending trip to Cardassia.

Garak paused, and Julian took a breath to speak, but the Cardassian beat him to it. “I’ve recently learned something interesting about you, doctor.”

“What’s that?” Julian was compelled to ask as his heart fluttered wildly. Surely Garak couldn’t mean...?

“You’ve been invited to go to Cardassia.” Garak’s face was suddenly unreadable, but his good-humored expression had certainly fled.

“That’s right,” Julian answered cautiously, wondering once again how Garak found these things out. He decided to take a shot in the dark. “I thought you might have had something to do with that.”

Garak shook his head. “Not at all, doctor. In fact, I hope you aren’t going,” Garak continued, his tone no longer casual.

“Of course I’m going.” Bashir’s voice rose in surprise.

“I see. But I always forget, doctor, that danger doesn’t worry you.” Garak looked angry now, and his tone was heavy with sarcasm.

“Danger?” Julian scoffed. “I’ll be in no danger. Why would anyone on Cardassia want to hurt me?” His momentary fear was replaced by resentment at Garak’s superior tone. “If you know something I need to know, Garak, why don’t you just come out and say it?”

They stared at each other in irritated silence. “Cardassia is a dangerous place, doctor,” Garak said calmly, as his lips curved into a surly smile. “Political maneuvering can become quite ruthless, and any innocent who gets in the way is considered expendable. But don’t let that prevent you from enjoying your trip.” He made a movement as if to rise from the table.

“Don’t go, Garak,” cried Bashir in a fit of exasperation, “aren’t you going to give me some small insight into what I might be facing?” To his surprise, Garak settled back into his chair, so he continued. “I can’t believe that anyone could find a way to use me in some dark political plot. After all, I’m not involved in Cardassian politics. But, listen: I’ve read all I can in the datafiles, and I still don’t know the protocols involved in presenting a paper or reacting to someone else’s paper at a conference.”

“You don’t expect me to know that, do you, doctor?” Garak snapped irritably. “You’re always accusing me of being a spy—well, if I’m a spy—or a tailor, for that matter—I’ve never been to an academic conference, have I?” He leaned forward with his eyes fixed intently on Bashir’s face. “But just suppose that someone tried to embarrass Gul Dukat by using you.”

“How?” Julian looked genuinely puzzled.

Garak sat back and exhaled sharply in frustration. “I don’t know, doctor! By stealing your uniform just before you were due to present your paper—that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?”

Bashir was taken aback by the tailor’s disagreeable tone. He wondered whether his friend was simply jealous about his trip to Cardassia. Well, it couldn’t be helped. If Garak went home, he’d be executed by his enemies. But surely Bashir and Sisko faced no danger there.

“Garak,” he said gently, his anger evaporating, “is there anyone on Cardassia you want me to contact? Any message you want me to deliver?”

“No, thank you, doctor,” Garak said with flashing eyes. “I no longer maintain personal connections on Cardassia. Now, if you will excuse me, I think it’s time I returned to my shop.” He rose and stalked from the table, but Julian was at his side in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Garak. What did I say?”

Garak shot him one annoyed glance. “Nothing, doctor, nothing at all.”

“Then why—”

Garak stopped so abruptly that Bashir nearly passed him. “I’m sorry I don’t share your enthusiasm about this trip to Cardassia, doctor. In my opinion, it’s a risky idea. If you must go, I’d advise you to be cautious and stay out of trouble.” He started again for his shop.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Bashir called after him peevishly. “That’s why I asked for your advice.”

“I’ve given you my advice,” Garak said over his shoulder without even slowing his pace, “and you’ve chosen not to take it. Good afternoon, doctor.” The tailor stalked off with determined strides. Bashir decided not to follow, but he stood for a moment watching Garak’s receding back. They were so far from understanding each other, so far.... And yet he could easily imagine taking that alien male into his bed. First Dax and now Garak. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he lust after someone who actually wanted him, as he used to do? It would make life much simpler. Julian sighed dejectedly and went back to the infirmary to collect his notes for the trip.

As he stepped off the _Rio Grande_ onto Cardassian soil, Bashir thought of Garak. It was ironic that, here on Cardassia, he was far away from the only Cardassian he knew at all well. Not that he understood Garak’s feelings or motives, but at least he was familiar. On Cardassia, one never knew when an apparently ordinary citizen would turn out to be a member of the Obsidian Order.

From Sisko’s briefing Bashir knew that feelings about Dukat’s invitation to himself and Sisko were mixed among the members of the Physicians’ Council. He wondered how receptive the doctors and scientists he was about to meet would be towards his work. But, despite Garak’s attempt to discourage him, the idea of a cultural exchange with Cardassia excited him.

Since his arrival on Deep Space Nine he had been intensely curious about this thick-skinned race. Now that he was infatuated with Garak, his curiosity about certain aspects of Cardassian physiology and psychology, not to mention sociology, had grown even stronger. He had searched out every scarce morsel of information concerning Cardassian mating customs, sexual instincts, and, most importantly, same-sex relationships, and still he was left to wonder. He desperately hoped that homoerotic relationships were at the very least acceptable. At the same time, he told himself sternly that he’d probably never have occasion to worry about it one way or the other.

One incomplete scrap of information he’d gleaned from a brief article on Cardassian education mentioned the concept of “mentoring.” Apparently every Cardassian, when he or she came of age, was taken under the protection of an older Cardassian of either sex. The resulting relationship, as far as he could tell, consisted of a deep friendship, something like Julian’s friendship with Garak. It also reminded him of something he had once half learned about ancient Greek culture: Socrates and a young man named Phaedrus—was that his name?—sitting under a tree discussing philosophy. But Julian couldn’t remember much more than that. Once again, he wished he’d taken the time to study his classics more thoroughly. But he imagined that the reference would turn out to be irrelevant and neglected to look it up.

They weren’t even shown to their quarters before being escorted to the conference center for a brief reception preceding Bashir’s first talk. Now he was surrounded by Cardassians of both sexes who introduced themselves politely but didn’t seem much inclined to chat. Usually he liked such affairs for the opportunity to flirt with females of different species, but Cardassian women had never been very attractive to him. He wondered for the thousandth time why he was attracted to Garak, and concluded that he must be drawn to the older being’s experience and secretive charm, not to his body. His incipient erection at the thought of the tailor’s arms around him made him drop that line of thought and concentrate on talking to the other doctors. He met a few dozen researchers in just under fifteen minutes. Needless to say, their names and faces didn’t stand out distinctly in his memory.

When he stepped up to the podium with his notes, he was faced with a virtual sea of Cardassian faces, most of which looked either unfriendly or, at best, indifferent. But Bashir was so confident about his work that he set off into the talk with enthusiasm, hardly even glancing at his notes as he drew diagrams on the viewscreen and brought up holograms to illustrate his points.

When he had finished, he stood for a moment waiting for the storm of approbation that he thought he deserved. Instead he drew aggressive questions, many of them hostile. The main point of contention seemed to center on his mapping of the layers of Cardassian skin. Most Cardassian physicians believed that there were many more layers, but Bashir had grouped them into classes that approximately matched the functions of the human dermal layers. Several doctors accused him of human chauvinism, a charge that shocked him. Others were content to say that his theory still awaited experimental verification.

After facing down a storm of challenges, Julian realized that he was starting to lose his concentration. The strong lights and continual talking had made his mouth feel like a desert floor. He took a long drink of water from the goblet on the podium and hoped that the audience had run out of questions. For a brief moment it seemed that they had, when suddenly a female doctor whose name he had already learned and forgotten stood slowly in the middle of the audience.

“I compliment your work, Dr. Bashir,” she said in a voice that seemed to exude hostility.

“Thank you, doctor,” Bashir murmured, at a loss to match her words with her tone and manner. As he waited for her to continue, he noticed that the room had grown completely silent as if every spectator had suddenly ceased to breathe.

“I compliment your work,” she continued, “as I would my own.” Without saying another word, she sat down again, and the room suddenly hummed with excitement. Although Bashir had no idea what had just happened, he was an experienced enough speaker to know when he’d lost his audience’s attention.

“Thank you for allowing me to speak before you today,” he said, and left the podium quickly.

The first person he ran into, blocking his way to the conference room floor, was the Cardassian female who had made the enigmatic statement. He wondered if her little speech had been some sort of ritual pronouncement designed to make him feel at ease. If so, it had failed completely. At any rate, there she stood, facing him silently, obviously expecting him to stop and talk to her. She hadn’t really left him any way to start a conversation without appearing hopelessly egotistical, and since he didn’t know who she was, he couldn’t compliment her work in return. He took a chance, hoping she wasn’t especially famous.

“What kind of research do you do, doctor?” he asked brightly.

She scowled, and his heart sank. “You toy with me,” she snapped angrily. “I have priority, and I will soon have justice.” With a glare she stalked purposefully out of the room.

Bashir sighed. He didn’t seem to be cut out for diplomacy. If only Garak had been there. Maybe he would have been able to give the doctor some advice. Or, on the other hand, maybe he would have stood by and watched with amusement while Bashir made an irredeemable fool of himself.

Sisko pushed through the crowd and came up to him. “How did your talk go, doctor?”

“Not too well,” Bashir admitted. “I think my audience might have been offended no matter what I said.”

“I’m having the same experience,” Sisko said with irritation. “I don’t think I’ve met the Cardassians who wanted us to come yet.”

As Sisko finished speaking, Bashir noticed with curiosity that the crowd had retreated, as if everyone were deliberately clearing a space around them.

“Commander,” he whispered as a chill touched his heart.

Two male Cardassians stepped briskly up to them with an official air. Bashir and Sisko turned instinctively to face them, standing side by side in a defensive posture. “Dr. Bashir?” one inquired.

With a jolt of adrenalin, Julian realized that the two were dressed in Cardassian Security uniforms. “I’m Dr. Bashir,” Julian said, as fear gathered and twisted in his gut.

“Come with us, please,” announced the same guard.

“What do you want with him?” Sisko asked sternly.

“He’s under arrest, by order of Gul Dukat,” the second Cardassian answered impassively, taking a step forward.

“We were invited here to exchange information,” Bashir said, holding his ground. “I just finished presenting my paper on Cardassian dermatology.”

“Ah, but that’s the very point,” said Gul Dukat with a toothy smile, stalking up to the group.

“Exactly what crime am I supposed to have committed?” Julian asked sarcastically. “All I’ve done since my arrival is stand here and talk to Cardassian doctors about blood chemistry and neurology.”

“And dermatology,” Dukat said, holding up a bony finger. “Please don’t forget dermatology, because Dr. Hidisch claims that you’ve stolen her work.”

“But I’ve never even heard of her work,” Julian protested indignantly, remembering that Hidisch was the name of his last questioner.

Dukat smiled knowingly. “She claims you presented it to the entire conference in the guise of one of your own papers. Your nerve was impressive, she said.”

The absurdity of the charges suddenly hit Bashir, and he had to keep himself from laughing. “I _was_ describing my own work,” he insisted. “Perhaps our work overlaps somehow, but I used Federation data bases to support my hypothesis, and that information wouldn’t have been available to her. Perhaps she and I can pool our knowledge and—”

“No matter. Since her work was published first, her claim will prevail. Now, please come with me and prepare for your trial.” Dukat signaled to his men, who moved to Bashir’s sides.

“My trial?” Julian gasped, all desire to laugh now gone.

“Your trial,” Dukat said piously. “How else will the people know that justice has been done?”

Sisko stepped up to stop the guards from moving off with Bashir. “Wait, Dukat,” he ordered, his voice low with fury. “Can’t we get the two doctors together and discuss this? Of course they understand their subject better than we do. I’m sure that if they just discuss things they’ll find it was all a misunderstanding.” Bashir recognized that Sisko was stalling for time. He hoped that Dukat didn’t realize it.

“I’m afraid that the trial must take place early tomorrow,” Dukat replied. “Your testimony as a character witness will be permitted. Please register with the court clerk in the morning.” Determinedly, in a way that would brook no more delay, Dukat motioned for his men to bring Bashir along.

“We’ll get you out of this, doctor,” Sisko said softly, and then louder, to Dukat, “I didn’t catch the charge, Dukat.”

“Plagiarism,” said the Gul without stopping.

“What’s the penalty?” Sisko called after him.

Dukat turned from the doorway and smiled faintly. “It’s considered a form of theft. Death by torture, of course.” Bashir threw Sisko a frightened glance as he was marched out the door.

“I’m sorry I asked,” Sisko murmured to himself as he turned his steps towards the runabout and its secure channel to the station. He didn’t have many options, but maybe he could at least force the Cardassians to give him more time.


	2. Theory and Practice

Firmly held between the two guards, Julian soon found himself in a room that at first glance he took to be a clinic. Beside a large, moveable examining table was laid out a whole set of shining surgical instruments. With a chill, he recognized the scene for what it was.

“What are you going to do?” he blurted, trying to pull back.

The guards carried him along easily to the table and stretched him out on its cold surface. Julian sat up immediately.

“Lie down,” one of them ordered, giving him an irritated look.

“No, wait,” Julian began reasonably. “You have no reason to torture me. I’ve just been accused of—”

“I know what you’ve been accused of,” the guard snarled, “and you’re not going to be tortured before your trial—that would be barbaric! Torture will be your punishment. This is your interrogation.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Julian wailed as they forced him flat and strapped his wrists and ankles to the table. Another strap around his forehead kept him from moving his upper body. “It was all a misunderstanding!”

“That’s what the interrogation is for,” said the second guard almost kindly, “to help you admit your guilt.”

Bashir only knew that someone else had entered the room when both guards stepped back from him and stood deferentially to one side. A Cardassian female dressed in a military uniform walked almost casually to Julian’s side and gestured brusquely to the guards. “You may go.” They obeyed instantly. She leaned over to look Julian in the eyes. “I’m conducting this interrogation,” she murmured so low that the doctor had to strain to hear her. “My name is Officer Rekcus, and you will address me respectfully at all times, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Bashir answered, deciding to avoid antagonizing this dangerous-looking officer as long as he could.

“What was that you said?” Rekcus asked with a hint of menace. Her glittering black eyes were set in a heart-shaped face framed by delicate frontal ridges. The whorls of cartilage on her cheeks echoed the thick curls of dark hair that swept past her shoulders. Julian was fascinated by her looks in spite of himself.

Julian caught on immediately. “Yes, Officer,” he said, trying not to be caught gritting his teeth, “I understand.”

“Good,” said Officer Rekcus, straightening up and treating him to a smile, “here is your first question. Listen carefully: all that happens to you here will depend upon your answer. Did you or did you not plagiarize the work of Dr. Alerre Hidisch?”

“I did not,” Julian answered formally as his heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

The officer fairly beamed down at him. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” she sighed happily. “Now I must prepare you for further questioning.”

With the air of an experienced surgeon, she picked out her chosen tool with hardly a glance at the tray. At first she held it low where Julian couldn’t see it, and only gradually moved it into his line of sight. It was a gleaming duachromium blade, sharpened to a razor edge and a long, thin point. Bashir knew from the interrogator’s pleased expression that Rekcus had not failed to notice the fear in his eyes.

“Ah, no, you think this is meant for your flesh,” she said soothingly. “Not yet. First we clear an area for my work. I must see as much of your skin as possible while I do my job. The skin is a sensitive organ, as you know. What happens to one part affects it all. It contains thousands of openings, it secretes dozens of substances—it teams with life. The skin is a complex ecosystem, and I am its explorer.” She pressed the flat of the blade against Julian’s neck just above his collar. “Don’t worry, doctor, I know Dr. Hidisch’s work and I admire it, unlike those fools who are so concerned with minutiae that they can’t see the value of her system.” As she moved her animated face closer to his, he was enthralled and terrified by her brilliant eyes. “Perhaps I should include you among her admirers, doctor, for even though you stole Dr. Hidisch’s work, you certainly can’t be accused of misunderstanding it. I know every layer of your epidermis...intimately.” The last word ended as a breath.

Julian closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. His mouth hung slightly open to reveal a glimpse of shining white teeth, and sweat formed on his forehead and trembling upper lip. At his sides, his fists were tightly clenched.

“Good. You offer no resistance, no defiance,” Officer Rekcus breathed in his ear. Her hot breath sent a tremor through his body. “Good,” she repeated. “You are ready.”

The blade left his skin as fingers lifted his collar. His right arm suddenly felt cold. Opening his eyes, he saw that Rekcus had cut his uniform open from neck to wrist. Julian watched, paralyzed with amazement, as she repeated the procedure on the other side. While she made two more cuts in his shirt from shoulder to waist, Bashir hardly dared to breathe. She stripped his uniform top down to his waist and contemplated his smooth chest with satisfaction.

“I’ve never actually worked on a human before. Well, except for a cadaver I once dissected. But that wasn’t the same thing at all, not at all.” Her words trailed off as one finger traced its way down his breastbone and bumped lightly across his ribs. “Skin like Veridian silk,” she breathed. She placed her palm flat over his racing heart. “How gratifying,” she purred happily. “I’m having quite an effect on you.” Julian watched her examine his skin as his chest rose and fell with his breath. She trailed her hands over his taut stomach, stopping to examine his navel with one inquisitive fingertip. When she circled a nipple, Julian squirmed a little. Rekcus raised an eyebrow appreciatively. Her finger tilted slightly so that the nail scraped his flesh. He shuddered.

“Ah, something we Cardassians have in common with you. Am I correct in assuming that I have found an erogenous zone?”

Julian answered her only with a gasp as she took both nubs of flesh between thumb and forefinger and squeezed them hard. Letting go suddenly, she slit the rest of his uniform from waist to ankle with a swiftness that made Bashir lightheaded. Feeling like a shucked oyster exposed by the pitiless knife, he lay on half of his clothing while the other half dangled uselessly over the end of the table. All that shielded him from her eyes now were his black cotton briefs, and her fiery look told him that he would lose even that meager protection soon. Fairly pouncing on him, Rekcus grabbed the waistband and slit the briefs through to the thigh. Her fingers brushed his balls as she neatly sliced the crotch from side to side and peeled the fabric off him to bare his trembling sex.

“Now, this is something I’ve always wanted to observe _in vitro_ ,” she said, taking him into her hand. “If I wanted the interrogation to be over immediately, I would start here with this delicate item. But today we have plenty of time.” She rubbed her fingers up and down the shaft, which had shrunken to its smallest, limpest state.

“No,” Julian murmured helplessly.

She raised her eyes in an angry glance. “Don’t say ‘no’ to me,” she commanded. Grabbing a surgical glove from the tray, she sliced off a long piece and tied it snugly around the base of Julian’s penis, under his balls.

Reaching behind his scrotum with her other hand to rub his prostate, she was rewarded by a small surge in the flaccid organ. Her face brightened. “Perhaps we even have time to start with something more pleasant for you.” Before Julian could protest, she had bent over the table and taken him into her mouth. He groaned and tugged at his bonds, feeling himself expand to fill her mouth.

“Please don’t!” he insisted, knowing even as he spoke that he couldn’t control his reaction to her agile tongue. It stroked him everywhere, tracing the contours of his glans, and even insinuating its very tip into his opening. All the while, she sucked him hard and rubbed his prostate to drive ever more blood past the improvised cock ring. Moaning and clenching his fists helplessly, Julian struggled against the straps that bound him to her pleasure. She excited him swiftly to the point just before orgasm, and there he remained, prevented from ejaculating by the elastic band around his member. Never before had he felt so stimulated while in such a heightened state of terror.

“Officer, please,” he begged in a faltering voice, “let me, just let me—” Heavy footsteps intruded into the room.

“What in the name of Ak-Nat is going on here?” came Gul Dukat’s astonished voice.

Officer Rekcus released Bashir’s cock and stood to attention next to the table. For a second, the Gul and his two guards stared at Julian’s hyper-distended organ, which was prevented from shrinking by the rubber band.

Dukat suppressed a smirk. “Get him out of that, Officer,” he said sternly, raising his hand in an imperious gesture.

Taking up the blade, she deftly sliced through the elastic and released him. Julian bit his lip as blood began to flow again through his constricted flesh.

“Leave the room for a moment, all of you,” Dukat ordered. “I must talk to the prisoner alone.”

Officer Rekcus bit her lip in annoyance. “Even you have no right to interrupt an official interrogation.”

“An interrogation?” Dukat snorted. “It looked more like a debauch to me. Unless you want me to report it, you’ll do as I say.”

Rekcus and the guards left without another word, and Dukat turned to Julian. “You little fool,” he began, shaking his head. “How much value you humans place on your ridiculous truth! Why didn’t you just admit your guilt? Then she couldn’t touch you. You’re lucky that Rekcus has an inquiring mind, or your skin would be as shredded as your absurd Star Fleet uniform.”

“But I’m not guilty,” Julian cried, stung by the insults. “Why should I say I am if I’m not?”

“You’re a guilty fool,” Dukat hissed. “Don’t you understand that you’ve already been convicted? The advantage of admitting guilt before the trial is that you get to wait until after the trial to be sliced to ribbons by Officer Rekcus.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Julian asked, wondering if he was missing something or if Dukat was trying to confuse him.

Dukat sighed. “This situation is terribly embarrassing for me. I’m trying to maintain good relations with your Commander Sisko, so I invite you to a medical conference. First, some jealous researcher whose work is out of favor on Cardassia decides to file a charge of plagiarism against a human, and I have it on good authority that she’s just part of a plot to embarrass me. Next, I’m prevented from delaying the trial, and then, to top things off, I discover that you’re trying to get yourself killed before it even starts.”

“You... You’re trying to help me?” Julian stuttered.

“As much as I can without risking my own neck any further. Which may turn out to be precious little,” Dukat said impatiently. “Now, will you admit your guilt?”

Julian wondered again if Dukat were springing some trap upon him. But when he thought of Rekcus’s blade, he decided that putting off the moment of reckoning was not a bad idea.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Rekcus!” Dukat barked. The torturer entered the room sullenly with a vicious scowl on her face. “I want you to be my witness. I ask you again, doctor,” he said, affecting an impersonal, threatening tone, “are you guilty or not?”

“I’m guilty,” said Julian loudly.

Rekcus turned a wrathful glare on the Gul. “You tricked me,” she snarled.

“I merely read the prisoner his rights,” Dukat replied sarcastically, swaggering towards the door. “Now, release him so the guards can put him in a cell. Oh, and find him some clothing, will you?”

Rekcus marched out just after Dukat, leaving the guards to release Julian and help him disentangle himself from the remnants of his uniform. After dressing in the loose tunic and pants they provided, he was glad to find that his boots were still intact, and gladder still to see the last of the Officer—for the moment, anyway.

***

“Dax!” As Sisko entered the Defiant he greeted his old friend with relief. “I’m glad to see you. What did the Federation Council say?”

“They’ll request that the trial be delayed for a week. That will give us a chance to investigate the charges. But, Benjamin,” she continued warningly, “there might be a better way. I’ve brought a passenger.”

Garak emerged from the corridor. “Commander,” he nodded solemnly.

“Garak,” Sisko said with surprise and annoyance evident in his expression, “I thought you were in mortal danger if you ever set foot on Cardassia again. Another lie?”

“Ordinarily, you’d be correct,” Garak said cordially, “but even a disgraced former citizen languishing in exile has the right to seek temporary immunity to testify at a trial.”

Sisko suddenly looked hopeful. “Do you have any information on Julian’s research?”

Garak shook his head. “It seems that Dr. Hidisch wrote her paper first, but Dr. Bashir wouldn’t have known about it. That doesn’t matter, of course,” he added regretfully. “Simple priority is enough for a conviction.”

“Than what are you doing here?” Sisko’s impatience threatened to boil over into fury.

“I can stop the public trial and ask for a closed session,” Garak said.

“And what good will that do?” Sisko’s voice had grown dangerously low. “Then we won’t even be able to testify.”

“And then I’ll present my new evidence. If it’s accepted, Dr. Bashir will go free after some minor punishment. If not—” He shrugged.

“Then what?” Sisko persisted.

“If not, then he and I will probably both be executed,” Garak said cheerfully. “Now, isn’t it nearly time for the trial to begin?”

Sisko didn’t move out of the doorway. “What new evidence?” he asked sternly.

“I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to trust that I want Dr. Bashir to be released as much as you do.”

“I have a problem with that, Garak. I’ll ask you again: what new evidence?”

“New evidence that will save the good doctor,” Garak said, meeting Sisko’s irate look, “and I defy you to find anything else that will.”

The two held each other’s eyes for a moment. “Garak,” Sisko said evenly, “if I had any other hope, no matter how slim, of getting Julian released, I wouldn’t let you leave this ship.”

“But you don’t,” said Garak almost sadly.

“No, I don’t. So I’m going to let you do it. But I’m asking you to swear to me that what you are about to do will not hurt Dr. Bashir’s chances of survival.”

“I’m staking my life on it,” Garak said solemnly.

***

Conservator Kovat tiredly rubbed the bony ridge between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, one thing is in our favor. The court is apparently well disposed towards you. After all, they ordered a speedy trial. And, of course, your swift confession counts for something.” He fussed with his datapadd while Julian sweated with fear and impatience. “Our defense will be simple, doctor. Although you didn’t know about Dr. Hidisch’s work when you wrote your own, you bow to her prior claim and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court.”

Julian snorted angrily. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything better from you,” he said rudely, “but, then again, you did win Chief O’Brien’s case, so I suppose there’s hope yet.” The doctor’s face was pale, his chin and cheeks shaded with dark stubble. The dark smudges under his eyes from a sleepless night accentuated the barely controlled rage in his expression.

Kovat glared at him furiously. “That debacle was all his nestor’s fault! Why, why was I given another case involving a human?” The padd containing his brief shook nervously with his hand. “Someone is trying to destroy my good name. I know I have enemies....”

“At the risk of sounding heartless,” Julian interrupted sarcastically, “let’s think for a moment about my enemies, shall we? I think I might be closer to execution than you at the moment.”

“Closer?” Kovat cried incredulously, his jowly face shaking with emotion. “Why you’re as good as dead! But why does my career have to go down with you? It isn’t fair. I couldn’t help it if I won that absurd case.”

Resting his elbows on the table, Julian ran both hands up into his hair. “This discussion is getting on my nerves. Could you please just leave me alone until the trial begins? If you’re not going to help me, I need to think about how I can help myself.” He stared intently at the table, trying to focus his thoughts.

“Gladly,” the Conservator muttered crossly. “If you were a Cardassian, you’d have a mentor, and then I wouldn’t have to risk my career in this matter.”

Julian looked up from his steady contemplation of the table. “Do you mean a nestor?” he asked with sudden hope.  

“No, no, no,” Kovat replied irritably. “A nestor is an officer of the court who is supposed to act simply as an advisor to the accused. A mentor takes responsibility for your punishment.”

“Well, you might say that my mentor is a Cardassian,” Julian said bitterly, “only he doesn’t happen to be on Cardassia at the moment.”

Kovat peered at him in disbelief and rose hastily from the table. “Don’t you even think of making a statement like that,” he warned in a trembling voice, shaking a gnarled finger in the doctor’s face, “because if you intend to offend the court, then I’ll refuse to represent you. I will!”

Julian grinned maliciously and wondered why Kovat suddenly seemed so rattled. “You can’t. You have no more choice than I do. And besides, you’re not the least bit interested in saving my life, so please excuse me if I don’t place any great value on your services.”

Kovat pressed the padd to his chest as a fearful expression crossed his face. “Young man,” he said sternly, “don’t make light of me. I am an experienced public defender. I’ve seen many trials, many personal dramas, play themselves out in Cardassian courtrooms, and I can assure you that death is not the worst thing that can happen to an individual. There are things that make death look like the greatest of goods. And I am proud to say that not one of the clients who followed my counsel has ever had his sentence made more severe.”

Julian stared at him with wide-open eyes. “When the sentence is death by torture, what difference does that make?” he whispered, appalled.

Conscious of having regained the advantage, Kovat stood up straight and puffed out his chest. “Oh, my dear young man,” he chortled pompously, “it makes a great deal of difference—at the time.”

As his lawyer left, Bashir wrapped his arms around himself against the sudden chill, to no avail. The cold was spreading outward from an icy reservoir of fear in his chest, and no amount of heat could quench it.

***

“This court will come to order,” said Chief Archon Makbar firmly, sending up showers of sparks with her gavel. Sitting at an elevated desk, she presided over a round auditorium filled with rings of seats sloping to a central stage. The room was packed, aside from the empty seats in front reserved for the Tribunal.

As the noise died down and the Tribunal filed in, Bashir could see that the stage consisted of a raised platform holding an unfamiliar piece of furniture pushed to one side. It was too high to be a bench, and, besides, there were some odd-looking implements dangling from its sides. As the lights came up, Bashir realized with horror that it was a kind of leather torture bench, just the right shape for a helpless body to be strapped across. Soon, if things went as planned, his skin would be much more intimately acquainted with the surface of that bench and its dangling implements than it ever wanted to be. He wondered weakly who would be doing the honors. A glance at his counselor’s grim face told him that at least one person present wouldn’t mind being recruited for the job. He shuddered and went back to wondering what he would say to the court.

As the Archon made the opening statement, Bashir caught Sisko’s eye. The Commander made a thumbs-up sign at him and smiled. As he forced his face into what he hoped was an answering smile, Bashir realized that Dax was sitting next to Sisko. He nearly cried to think that she had come all this way to give him moral support. Well, it was probably the last thing she would ever have to do for him. He thought sadly back on the year when he had thought he was in love with her. Although their friendship meant everything to him, and he hardly lusted after her any more, he regretted that they had never made love. That would be a memory to warm him now, at his trial for a capital offense he hadn’t known the existence of a day ago.

As Julian let his mind drift, he only half heard the Archon read the charges and summarize the case against him. At every line, his so-called defender mumbled assent and bobbed his head vigorously up and down. Kovat was taking no chances of being caught on the wrong side again. Bashir sighed hopelessly. This would be a speedy trial indeed.

When the door opened and someone walked through the audience to the stage, Julian didn’t look up right away, so absorbed was he in the spectacle of his defender’s egregious betrayal. But when Kovat’s face stiffened with horrified surprise, Julian turned quickly towards the central platform. A lone figure stood there. Julian’s heart beat painfully as even more adrenalin pumped through his body. Garak.

But what was Garak doing here? Wouldn’t his life now be forfeit, too? Would Julian’s last thought be that his own downfall had also resulted in his friend’s death?

“I seek asylum to testify at this trial,” Garak was announcing calmly, as if unconscious that all eyes were upon him.

“In what capacity do you wish to testify?” The Archon’s face was impassive, but her eyes had widened perceptibly.

“As the mentor of the accused.”

The crowd burst into pandemonium. There were cries of “no!” and “impossible!” from all parts of the room. Julian found himself to be the object of a few dozen angry looks, and wondered why Garak’s words had provoked such a storm. Glancing at Sisko, he saw that the Commander was looking around in perplexity, too. But Dax was serene. And, knowing her as he did, he realized that her serenity was deeper than simple control—it was the peace of assurance. Dax had confidence in Garak’s plan. Julian suddenly believed that Garak was bringing him a chance to survive.

Feeling more hopeful, he leaned over to his cowering defender and took a risk. “I told you I had a Cardassian mentor,” he whispered.

Kovat staggered to his feet, nearly falling on Julian in his eagerness to speak to the court. “Your honor, the defendant informed me that he had a mentor, but since he didn’t tell me who it was, I dismissed it as idle talk. I thought he was desperate. After all,” he whimpered, “how was I to know that a human would—”

“Enough!” Garak cried, looking at Julian, and managing to wipe almost all the astonishment from his expression. “I demand a closed session. It is my right. There are off-worlders and gawkers here. These matters are private.”

“But the defendant is not a Cardassian!” Kovat cried spitefully.

“Whose side are you on?” Bashir hissed, tugging at his sleeve.

“He is an initiate,” Garak said simply. He folded his arms and waited while most of the other men and women in the room argued heatedly. Julian heard little of it; he was intent on interpreting Garak’s expression.

“Quiet!” shouted Makbar, banging down her gavel so hard that it raised a whole storm of sparks. “Asylum to testify is granted. This court will adjourn and reconvene immediately in closed session. “Guards, escort the observers from the room, and stay outside until you are summoned.”

Julian watched as Sisko and Dax were escorted out along with nearly all the Cardassians in the room. Sisko went slowly, reluctantly, glancing back at Julian with concern in his eyes. Dax looked back only once to flash him a faint smile and a nod. So he was right. Whatever Garak was doing, she believed in it. Now he just had to figure out what he was supposed to be an initiate of.

When the spectators had been removed, only about fifteen Cardassians remained in the room. Kovat had slipped away so quietly that Julian wouldn’t have seen him go if the disloyal Conservator hadn’t stopped to ask the Archon that this trial be removed from his permanent record. She agreed sympathetically, and he left with delight written on his features. Julian was just as relieved to see the last of him.

Garak walked over and sat by Julian’s side. “So you see, doctor,” he said softly, leaning in close, “I decided to join you on your dangerous vacation after all. I was afraid that someone would use your visit to embarrass Dukat, and unfortunately, I was correct.”

Bashir felt Garak’s warmth flow through him. When their shoulders touched, he instinctively leaned against him, and the Cardassian didn’t move away. “Garak,” Julian said emotionally, “what are you doing here? What going to—”

“Not now, doctor,” Garak warned him. “We’ll have time to talk later. For now, all you need to do is go along with everything I say and do, no matter how strange it may seem. Both our lives depend upon it.”

“Order!” the Archon shouted into the nearly quiet room. “Now,” she said with flashing eyes, “this court does not take kindly to surprises. My only reasons for allowing this testimony to proceed are that Garak was off-world when he heard of his protégé’s predicament, and that the defendant made an unsuccessful effort to tell his Conservator that he had a mentor.

“I expect your testimony to be clear and succinct, Garak. Do I understand that you wish to take responsibility for Dr. Bashir’s crimes?”

Garak stood slowly. “I do, your honor.” Fear flooded Julian’s chest once again, and he had to bite his cheek to keep himself from protesting. He remembered Dax’s cool face. Surely she wouldn’t approve if Garak intended to sacrifice his life in place of Julian’s?

“Very well. Do you have anything to ask of the court?”

“I do, your honor,” Garak repeated evenly. “I would like to ask the court to grant me my due. I will take responsibility for punishing my protégé. Before the court, if you so decree, but I would prefer to do it privately.”

_Mentor? Protégé? Punishment?_ What kind of relationship was implied by those words? Julian’s blood still coursed swiftly through his veins. His head spun with questions to ask Garak. Clearly, a punishment would be better than an execution, but what kind of punishment did Garak have in mind?

“May I speak, your honor?” asked an aged figure from the dimness of the last row. With a bolt of fear, Julian realized that it was Garak’s old nemesis, Enabran Tain.

“Speak,” said the Archon.

“I simply would ask if the prisoner is marked.” Tain sat down and disappeared once again into the shadows.

“A legitimate question,” said the Archon approvingly. “Garak, have you marked your protégé?”

“No,” said Garak, revealing no emotion. “Because he is a human, his skin is much tenderer than ours. The traditional instrument would not make a satisfactory impression because it would go too deep. I hesitated, hoping to find a more appropriate implement. Perhaps the court has a suggestion,” he finished slyly.

The Archon thumped her gravel in annoyance to quell a small murmur. “This is highly unusual. How can he be an initiate if he isn’t marked? You will take the prisoner to the holding room and prepare him for his punishment while we confer,” Makbar said sternly. “The punishment will take place before the court, and then you will perform the marking.” When she rose, everyone in the room rose with her.

“Come on,” Garak said, taking Julian by the arm. “We don’t have much time.”

***

Julian sat feeling stunned and weary, while the worst ordeal of the day still loomed over him. “So a mentor can mistreat his protégé in any way he likes?” he asked incredulously.

Garak shrugged. “It’s frowned upon, but there are always a few cases. Like my own, for example. Enabran Tain beat me whenever he had the least excuse. But, then, as he always said, he was training me for the Order. Some mentors forget that their protégés are younger adults to whom they are supposed to be passing on their wisdom.” Garak sighed. “I’ve always wanted to mentor someone properly,” he continued harshly, “but I never had the chance. And now the court is going to force me to beat you when I’d rather just—”

“Am I...will I really be your protégé, Garak?” Julian asked hesitantly.

“Under Cardassian law, you will be if I brand you,” Garak said with a vague smile, “although you can always remove the mark when we get back to the station.” He laughed suddenly. “You wanted to know about Cardassian culture, doctor. This is Cardassian culture. They burn it into your hide whether you like it or not.” He paused to close his eyes and rub the bony plate on his forehead. “I’ll beat you relatively gently, dear doctor, never fear. I won’t even break the skin. It’s my prerogative to choose the instrument and the method. And the mark will burn for a few seconds, but it’s not exactly a mortal wound. What bothers me is what I’ll have to do if they ask for proof that we’re lovers.”

“Mentors and protégés are...l-l-lovers?” Julian stuttered, feeling foolish as he asked the question. “Even if we were lovers, how could you prove it?”

Garak looked up and smiled ironically. “How, indeed! I couldn’t prove it, of course. But by asking for proof they’ll make sure that it’s true.” The Cardassian looked at him quizzically, as if wondering how he would react.

Julian opened and closed his mouth as Garak’s meaning sunk in. So he might get to live his absurd fantasy, and in the most humiliating of circumstances. Being executed was the only thing he could imagine that would actually be worse than this: having Garak take him coldly before witnesses in order to save his life. His thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a summons that reverberated through the room. “Your trial will resume in five minutes. Report to courtroom three.”

Still watching Julian’s face, Garak rose. “So, doctor, if it comes to that, do I have your permission to proceed?”

Julian avoided his eyes. “Do whatever you need to do.” He thought he heard a sigh from his companion, but when he looked up, Garak’s eyes were blank and cold.

“I will,” he said simply. “Now, please remove your clothes.”


	3. Justice is Only Skin Deep

When Garak opened the door to the courtroom, Bashir shivered in the sudden rush of cooler air on his slightly damp skin. With his hands bound behind him, his balance was off, and his feet slipped on the polished surface of the floor. With one hand on his arm, Garak pulled him quickly along the aisle through the spectators’ seating towards the brightly lit central stage. Julian had never before been naked in front of so many beings, even in his worst nightmares. The spectators’ eyes brushed his smooth, golden skin almost tangibly. One elderly Cardassian had leaned forward eagerly to focus his interested gaze on Julian’s groin. He shuddered and glanced at Garak. His companion’s face was grim and set. His eyes gleamed with the light from the stage, but Julian could read nothing in them.

Julian stumbled on the carpeted steps to the platform and would have fallen if Garak hadn’t kept a firm grip on his arm. They stood facing the Archon for a long moment before she spoke. Julian shivered from a combination of fear, humiliation, and cold. The rough carpet abraded his bare feet. Garak’s grip grew tighter as if he could stop Julian’s trembling by sheer force of will. The Archon looked up suddenly, training her piercing eyes on Julian’s face, and banged the gavel down once to still the buzzing room.

“Dr. Julian Bashir,” she intoned into the silence, “do you maintain that Garak is your mentor?”

“Yes,” Julian said, finding that his voice sounded steadier than it felt.

“Then you accept his and the court’s punishment?”

“Yes,” he said again as Garak pressed his arm, fighting the urge to ask what the punishment was.

“Very well. The court decrees that you will receive one-hundred lashes with the _tir quok_.”

Julian looked at her numbly, realizing that a hundred lashes with anything could be highly dangerous. At his side, Garak stirred.

“No,” he said firmly. “As his mentor, it is up to me to choose the instrument. A hundred strokes with the _tir-quok_ would kill him. You cannot require a mentor to kill his protégé.”

“You are not quite his mentor yet,” the Archon retorted maliciously, “because you haven’t marked him.”

Garak squeezed Julian’s arm harder still as if afraid he would fly away. “I didn’t think he was ready, and, besides, as I said before, I need to modify the brand. You only have to read his own dermatology paper to realize that it would be pointless to use the usual implement on him.”

“ _His_ dermatology paper? I find your suggestion offensive.” The Archon’s eyes flashed with anger. “What do you think, Dr. Hidisch?” she asked, deferring to the woman sitting in the front row.

“It’s true, your honor,” Dr. Hidisch commented. The sight of her eyes gleaming with triumph made Julian feel ill. “It would make an unrecognizable burn instead of inscribing the symbol. Their skin is really very thin.”

“Then why haven’t you made a new instrument before?” the Archon snapped at Garak. “Your own protégé has apparently shown you the way with his stolen research—or was he reluctant to be marked because he has no respect for our customs or our laws?”

Garak shrugged, and Julian admired his nerve. “Isn’t it my decision when and how to mark him?” he said coolly, “or have things changed that much on Cardassia?”

The Archon gestured to Dr. Hidisch. “You understand the problem. Can you make a new brand? Quickly!” she ordered at the doctor’s surprised nod. She rose without protest, but her stricken face revealed her worry that she would miss the start of the spectacle.

Julian’s head was spinning from humiliation at being treated like a piece of meat. Standing naked before them, bound and helpless, he had no choice but to endure the Tribunal’s lustful looks while the court discussed the fine points of marking his flesh with whips and branding irons. He suddenly felt as if Garak’s painful grip were the only thing keeping him from floating away into the air. He leaned up against Garak as he fell, and the tailor caught him in his strong arms.

“I request a ten minute recess,” Garak said with concern in his voice. Half conscious, with his ear pressed tightly against Garak’s chest, Julian heard his friend’s voice clearly, but the Archon’s reply seemed to ring down a long tunnel.

“Request denied. Attach him to the bench and prepare him for his punishment,” she ordered coldly. “The court will reluctantly allow you free choice of implement, but we will tolerate no more delays.”

Garak carried Julian to the bench and laid him gently over it, untying his wrists and spreading his arms out to the sides. “I’m sorry, doctor,” he murmured tenderly. His rough hand stroked the nape of Julian’s neck. “I would spare you this if I could, but I can’t lose you.”

Coming back to himself, Julian groaned and shook his head, which made the room spin dizzily around him. Had he really heard Garak correctly? Had the Cardassian meant to caress him? He felt something cold snake around his wrist.

“No, Garak, don’t strap me down,” he protested, wresting his arm away despite Garak’s injunction not to object to anything that happened.

“Would you rather prove that you can take the beating without restraints?” Garak said loudly, trying to cover Julian’s panic.

“Yes,” he answered, struggling for air, trying hard to calm down. Garak’s hands guided each of his to a strap he could loop his wrist through and hold. Garak spent a few more moments arranging Julian’s body over the bench so that his weight was completely supported by it, although his feet touched the ground. Garak’s hands stroked their way down Julian’s back, lingering briefly on his smooth and rounded ass.

“What beautiful skin,” Garak commented softly. “Ah, doctor, it’s a pity I have to beat you. But you have no idea how lovely you look when you’re in the grip of strong emotion. Still, I’d rather cause you pleasure than pain.” As Garak’s hands cupped the curves of Julian’s backside, the doctor felt a warm tinge of arousal stir in his groin.

“Oh, no,” he breathed softly, as his cock slowly stiffened. He thought again about his persistent fantasy and wished that Garak were about to take him instead of beat him. He was terrified of the beating—wishing to get it over with, wishing it would never start. And still Garak’s hands ran gently over his skin as Garak’s voice reassured him.

“It won’t last long, my chosen one, and then you’ll be mine.” Garak was speaking in a low voice. No one in the audience could possibly hear him—Julian could barely hear him—so why was he saying these things? Were they part of some bonding ceremony that Bashir knew nothing about? Or was it possible that he meant them? But hadn’t he suggested that Julian remove the mark when they reached the station? Did all of this mean anything to him?

“It’s time to start, Garak,” the Archon said impatiently. “I have the new brand. Now, choose your implement and get on with the punishment.” Julian saw Dr. Hidisch slip back into the front row, looking pleased that she hadn’t missed any of the show.

“Get ready, doctor,” Garak whispered. “Be brave.” He turned to the Archon. “I choose the _lopk_.”

Julian couldn’t see her, but he heard her tongue click in irritation. “I expected no less,” she said tartly. “The lightest implement. It doesn’t even leave a mark.”

“His skin, your honor, is no match for any of the other instruments,” Garak said apologetically. “As you will see, the _lopk_ will certainly leave marks on him. It will raise welts on his back that will not fade overnight.”

“Proceed,” the Archon said coldly.

The first stroke, which hit him across the shoulders, seemed to cause more noise than pain until the second one hit in the same place and both started stinging together. Garak hadn’t shown him the whip, but Julian now surmised that it was made of three or four leather strips attached to a handle. He was glad to note the relative lightness of the straps, but he still wasn’t sure he could take a hundred of these lashes. As Garak’s strokes progressed methodically down his back, Julian noted that the sting in each one’s wake soon became an unbearable burning. When Garak laid four in a row on his ass before moving slowly back up his spine to his shoulders, Julian could no longer stay still. Keeping a death-grip on the leather handles, he squirmed away from the strokes as much as he could. He clenched his jaw, but still heard his own moans. He lost count and hoped that Garak hadn’t. The whipping suddenly stopped, and Garak’s hands were holding his face.

“Are you all right?” Garak’s worried face loomed up to his, making Julian realize what a heightened state he was in.

He managed to nod. “What number—? How many—?”

“Half done. Fifty more.” Julian’s heart sank. He groaned as he turned his face out of Garak’s grasp. “You should feel free to make as much noise as you want,” Garak told him. “As long as you stay in position and keep a grip on the handles, no one will object. These fifty are going to be hard ones, but you’ll make it, my young friend. You have to make it, or we’ll both die.”

_I hadn’t forgotten!_ Julian cried out angrily in his mind. _You’re saving my life, and I’m returning the favor with my skin, so don’t talk to me that way._ The anger got him through twenty more strokes, as it was meant to.

Then the seventieth stroke suddenly came down with much more force than he expected, driving the breath from his lungs. As he struggled for air, the next stroke arrived, and the one after, until, at ninety, he was gasping in agony. The blows stopped.

“Ten more,” Garak said. Julian heard the Archon’s threatening tone as she told Garak to finish quickly.

Three strokes struck his ass in quick succession. The warmth of the pain coursed through him. Another few blows spattered against the backs of his thighs.

“Almost done,” Garak said soothingly. His hand caressed the unmarked flesh on the insides of Julian’s thighs before moving higher to stroke between his buttocks. And then a strange thing happened. Julian’s erection, which had wilted at the very beginning of the beating, suddenly rose again, becoming unbearably hard and sensitive. He groaned with longing as the last five strokes slapped down on his back and shoulders. He hardly felt them.

Julian heard a labored and rhythmical sound and suddenly realized it was his own breathing. Garak had taken his face between cupped hands again and was trying to tell him something, but, for the moment, Julian was fluent only in the language of his body. And his body vibrated with pain and arousal.

“Garak,” he gasped in a trembling voice, “will you take me?”

The other’s words suddenly snapped into meaning. “I’m afraid I must,” Garak murmured. “They insist. I’ve pushed them too far.” He stroked Julian’s wet cheek with gentle fingers. “I’m sorry, doctor.”

“You’re saving my life,” Julian whispered painfully.

Garak’s smile was small and hard. “Yes,” he said. “You can remember that if you don’t enjoy the experience.”

Julian was suddenly furious. Here he was, spread out helpless in front of all these Cardassian eyes, allowing himself under pain of death to be used like a slave, and Garak was reproaching _him_? Ironically, he _would_ enjoy the experience. Even now, as his back and ass burned unendurably, his erection throbbed with anticipation. He wanted Garak to open him, thrust into him, suddenly discover his arousal, and then—

He heard Garak call out for something that was brought to him quickly. Julian guessed that it was lubrication, for the next thing he felt was the warm touch of Garak’s hands spreading him and the cold, slippery stuff allowing Garak’s fingers to enter him. As the thick fingers slipped against his prostate a bolt of arousal surged through his groin. He made a small sound deep in his throat that Garak must have thought was a whimper of pain.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” he said softly. “I’m being as gentle as I can.” The fingers withdrew, and Julian waited as his cock throbbed violently. Again Garak’s hands spread his cleft and the blunt head of Garak’s erection pressed against his opening. Julian gnawed at the leather surface of the bench to stifle a cry of excitement and pain as Garak pushed the tip inside and stopped.

Julian heard Garak’s angry voice ring out into the courtroom. “Is this what you all stayed around to see?” Garak pressed harder, and Julian felt himself open helplessly to intense pain and intense pleasure, indistinguishable. He arched his back, feeling split in half and yet impatient to take it all inside. Garak obliged, sliding in firmly until his belly pressed hard against the new welts on Bashir’s ass, making the doctor squirm and moan.

“All right,” Garak was continuing in a voice loaded with sarcasm, “you can see that I’m inside him. Now what shall I do?” Julian felt impossibly full. His body was a mass of tensions—his skin burned, his cock throbbed painfully, his cleft was stretched beyond endurance, and every muscle in his body ached. He longed to yell and move, to shove his tender skin against Garak’s hardness until he found relief.

“Did you miss it? I can do it again, if you’d like.” Garak suddenly pulled nearly all the way out, leaving him bereft. Bashir gasped, and the Cardassian slid slowly back in, opening him again. He groaned involuntarily as Garak started pumping in and out. Bashir hid his face against the leather bench and rose to the steady strokes.

“Here is the brand,” said the Archon’s voice from somewhere close behind Julian. “Now, mark him.”

Garak laughed. “Since when is the marking a matter for other eyes? I will mark him, your honor, but only when the court has withdrawn.”

The Archon made an inarticulate sound of anger. “Very well, Garak, but you have received your last boon from this court. When you have finished here, we will make sure that you’ve marked him. Then take your protégé and go. I anticipate the day when you will be in my presence again. Perhaps on that day, the court will have the good fortune to sit in judgment on you.”

The room cleared quickly and the footsteps died away. As Garak and Bashir continued their coupling on the leather bench, the only sounds in the room besides their rhythmic breathing were Julian’s soft moans.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” Garak said suddenly in a voice stricken with emotion.

“For what?” Julian panted. “You risked your life to save me, and you did.”

“But I can’t stop,” Garak rasped in an anguished voice. “I know you didn’t want this, but I can’t stop myself.” His grip around Julian’s waist tightened as he pushed back firmly into the doctor’s body. Julian realized that Garak was shaking with passion and shame. The sudden recognition that his friend had lost control of his desire rushed through him like a drug.

“Touch me,” Julian said urgently. “Put your hand on my erection. Please.” Hesitantly, Garak released Julian’s waist with one hand and reached around to find the young man’s exquisite hardness. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted you, do you, Garak?” Julian asked in amazement. “It was so humiliating to want you when I thought you were just going through the motions.” He ran out of breath and gasped as the force of Garak’s strokes increased.

Garak stroked Julian’s hard-on firmly, driving him to thrust back against the tailor. “I’ve been stupid, doctor. I’ve wanted you since I met you, but I thought you wanted her.” His breath caught in his throat, and he gently laid his chest over Julian’s raw back, placing his cheek against the young man’s hair.

“Jadzia.” Julian was having trouble talking too as he felt Garak’s warm breath graze his neck. “At first I did. But now... I want you... to mark me, Garak.” Only as he said the words did he realize they were true. “Mark me,” he repeated thickly.

“No,” Garak replied, “I won’t do it. They can’t inspect you anyway—it’s against the—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Julian cried. “Do it quickly! Now....”

With one finger, Garak rubbed a small circle on Julian’s hip. “Here,” he said simply. The next thing Julian felt was a sharp, stinging burn that quickly faded to a dull ache, indistinguishable among the gamut of sensations that assailed him. The branding implement hit the floor and rolled off the platform. Julian moaned low as a deep throbbing began in his cock and spread throughout his body. He felt Garak’s hardness deep inside him, spreading him apart, caressing him. And then a fire seemed to explode in his brain, blinding him to everything but the sensation of Garak’s cock erupting in hot spurts. With elation he heard Garak’s voice sigh inarticulate sounds of pleasure. An overwhelming sensation of relief washed over him: Garak wanted him, and he was alive.

He finally released the leather straps, and his hands shook violently when he tried to push himself off the bench. Garak held him and lowered him gently to the floor. Julian lay on his side and looked into Garak’s eyes. “Is there any place on my body that doesn’t hurt?” he asked rhetorically.

“I didn’t have to brand you,” Garak shrugged, pushing the hair back tenderly from Julian’s face. Picking up a small jar from the floor under the bench, he started to spread some ointment over Julian’s welt-covered back.

“Yes, you did. I asked you to.” Julian winced briefly as Garak’s hand touched a sensitive spot. He swiveled his neck to look at the tiny mark. “What is that symbol? It looks like a pretzel.”

“Wrong,” Garak said with a touch of irritation, “it’s a knot. It represents the bond between us—between mentor and protégé.” He pushed Julian gently over on his stomach and started spreading salve on his lower back and buttocks. His voice grew hard. “You can always remove it when we return to the station.”

“If you want me to,” Julian said, surprised and a little hurt. “But first I’m going to show it to that judge.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I want her to see that you did it.”

Garak laughed. “Oh, my dear doctor, are you trying to vindicate me? My reputation is so poor on Cardassia that one point in my favor will get lost as quickly as one drop of blood in the ocean.”

Julian sat up, wincing in pain as he moved. Taking Garak’s hand, he kissed it quickly and held the palm to his face. “It’s not just for you,” he said softly, “it’s for me, and for her. I want her to know that she was wrong, that she misjudged me. Maybe she won’t be so quick to condemn the next poor prisoner who appears before her.”

Garak looked surprised and uncomfortable, although he didn’t withdraw his hand. “But that’s the irony.” He laughed softly. “The original charges against you were absurd. You weren’t guilty of anything except meeting a vindictive researcher. That’s where Makbar was wrong. But in the matter of whether I was your mentor or not, she was quite correct to be suspicious, but wrong to give us the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t your mentor, doctor. So she made two errors, and somehow we survived.”

Julian laughed, too. As the ointment drew some of the pain from his skin, Julian sat up and faced his companion. “That’s all true. Except that you _are_ my mentor now. And, in a way, you were then, too.” Garak shook his head slowly, a painful grimace written on his features.

“You don’t know the first thing about this custom of ours. I’m afraid that you’re so relieved to be alive that—”

“Then explain to me why I told Kovat that you were my mentor.”

“I don’t know,” Garak said thoughtfully. “I must admit I didn’t understand that.”

“As soon as he said he wished I had a mentor, I thought of you. And I told him I did have one, and he was a Cardassian.”

“Did you?” Garak asked, his expression softening.

Julian leaned forward and placed a kiss on the ridge below Garak’s eye. The eye closed. Julian kissed his cheek, then his lips. Garak moved towards him and their lips fused for a moment while their tongues touched hesitantly. Garak pulled away, and Julian unwillingly let him go.

“Let’s find your clothes and get out of here before they think of some other excuse to detain us,” Garak suggested. He helped Bashir to rise and walk to the holding room.

***

Sisko fumed and paced as Dax stood still, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.

“Two hours!” Sisko exclaimed, spinning towards her. “Why won’t they tell us what’s going on?”

“I suppose that was why they had a closed session,” she answered patiently. “They didn’t want us to know what was going on.”

“You know what all this secrecy is about, Old Man,” Sisko said suddenly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Dax looked him straight in the eyes. “If I tell you, I’ll violate two people’s privacy, and there still won’t be a thing you can do. Are you ordering me to tell you?”

Sisko sighed. “You swear that this secret, whatever it is, isn’t important for me to know?”

“It isn’t,” she said firmly. “I’ve already told you that.”

“All right, then. You win, Old Man. Don’t tell me.” He had just returned to pacing when the door opened and Garak came in practically dragging Bashir, whose legs could barely support his weight. He was deathly pale except for a red patch on each cheek. His hair was tousled and sweaty. “Hello, Commander,” Julian said thickly, as he swayed against his companion.

“What happened to him, Garak?” Sisko asked furiously.

“Garak saved my life,” Julian said wearily. “I got a beating instead of being tortured to death. I’m sore, but I’m not seriously injured.”

“All right. Let’s go. Doctor, you’ll go on the runabout with Dax, but I want Mr. Garak with me.”

“Sir, the Defiant can get me to the station faster,” Bashir observed.

“Very well,” agreed Sisko, puzzled that Bashir wouldn’t take the opportunity to remain alone with Dax. He supposed that the doctor really wasn’t feeling well.

The door opened again and Chief Archon Makbar came in quickly, looking rushed and ill at ease. “Ah, Dr. Bashir, Mr. Garak. I was too... startled earlier when you showed me your new evidence. But I wanted to tell you that I realize I was wrong to suspect you. I almost made a serious error, and I was glad to be able to rectify it.”

“Thank you, Archon Makbar,” Bashir said. “I hope that...that....”

When he fainted, Garak caught him easily and scowled at the Archon. “Our doctor is still in pain,” he said. “I suppose that the _lopk_ had the effect you desired after all.”

“Yes.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Please tell him that the next time he visits Cardassia, I hope his stay will be more pleasant.”

“I’m sure he hopes so, too,” Dax said drily. Throwing her a discomfited look, the Archon left quickly.

“Now what was that all about?” Sisko asked, hopeless that anyone would answer him.

They proceeded to the ships and left as quickly as possible.

***

Julian stayed in his quarters for two days to recuperate. Somehow it soon became common knowledge that he had been whipped on Cardassia, and several young women and men on the station suddenly found him irresistibly attractive. No one except Garak, Dax, and Julian himself knew who had administered the whipping.

On the day he finally emerged from his rooms, the station seemed different somehow: brighter, noisier, more crowded and colorful. He felt aimless walking around the Promenade without a goal. Although his skin was completely healed, he was off duty for another two days by Sisko’s orders.

He got some Tarkalian tea and sat down at a table in the almost-empty replimat, feeling vaguely tired already. The steam rose from his cup as he held it before his eyes. Through the vapor he saw a familiar bulky figure pass through his line of vision.

“Garak?” he called quickly, lowering his cup.

The Cardassian turned, but his eyes flicked quickly away. “Hello, doctor. I’m happy to see that you’re feeling better.” He began to program the replicator as Julian walked up behind him.

“I thought you’d come by my quarters to express that sentiment in person,” the doctor said softly.

Garak turned quickly. “Why would I do that?” he asked warily. “Because I’m the one who whipped you?”

“Because you’re my mentor,” Julian answered, meeting his steady gaze, “and a mentor is supposed to be his protégé’s companion in times of trouble.”

A small smile curled Garak’s lips. “Ah, you’ve found a new source of information on Cardassian culture,” he murmured. “Well, it’s easy to quote the library tapes, but it isn’t easy to be a protégé.”

“Have you changed your mind, then?” Julian asked angrily. “I thought the marking meant something to you, but I suppose I was wrong.”

Garak looked at him strangely. “Doctor, I’ve endeavored to forget what happened on Cardassia for your sake.”

“For _my_ sake?” Julian spat. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that in the heat of the moment perhaps you thought you wanted something that later on might seem an embarrassment,” Garak said evenly. “Not that it wasn’t extremely pleasant to be told that you wanted me—to hear you say those words when you thought you meant them was flattering beyond my wildest expectations. But you and I both know that it was just your gratitude talking, and that—”

“You may know that, but I don’t,” Julian said sharply. “Please come to my quarters with me, Garak. I have something to show you.”

“What is it?” Garak’s food materialized in the slot, but he ignored it.

“Something harder to dismiss than my words,” Julian answered bitterly.

“Now, doctor, you must know that you don’t owe me anything,” Garak said sadly. “I’d hate to see you try to convince yourself that you wanted to be anything other than my friend.”

“Come on.” Julian turned with a determined look and led the way while Garak followed. They reached his door in silence. Julian punched in the access code and the door slid open.

They stood facing each other in the simple room as the door closed behind them. “Lights up 10 percent,” Julian ordered. Garak, with his more sensitive eyes, blinked slightly, and Julian gave him time to adjust. Then he began to remove his clothes.

“Doctor, don’t do this, please,” Garak said painfully, but Julian was already naked. Seeing the smooth, young limbs and the caramel skin made Garak suddenly ache with desire. The cock he had once stroked to orgasm began to stir and rise, and still they looked steadily at each other.

“If you don’t believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my body,” Julian said in a voice that had grown hoarse. “Look at my hip.” Garak looked, and saw that the little knot was still visible there.

“Why didn’t you remove it?” he asked, stunned. “I thought you’d want to forget your humiliating experience on Cardassia as soon as possible.”

Julian smiled and shook his head. “How can I forget it? Without the trial, I’d never have admitted how I felt about you. I never knew you felt the same way until you couldn’t stop.”

“I couldn’t stop,” echoed Garak, hanging his head.

Julian walked over to him and put his arms around the Cardassian’s bulky chest, laying his head on Garak’s shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, Garak’s arms slid softly up Julian’s naked back until they crossed to wrap him in a fierce embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please return to the archive and leave comments and kudos! Thanks for reading.


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